


The Rain is full of Ghosts Tonight

by KittyWizard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Grief/Mourning, Lost Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyWizard/pseuds/KittyWizard
Summary: Evelyn Trevelyan awakens in Haven's dungeons to find that not only was their a disaster at the Conclave, but she has lost someone very dear to her. Can she overcome her grief to lead the Inquisition and perhaps even find love again?





	1. What lips my lips have kissed

Scorched, burning, searing pain.

“Pay attention Evelyn!” Senior Enchanter’s eyes, stern, scolding. Spell misfired, doubled back. Apprentices laughing, hand cradled, eyes stinging, cheeks wet. She would get it right next time. 

Echoes as her tears dropped, creaking of the door to First Enchanter’s office, loud, heavy. Boots, Templars. Always watching. Cold in the tower.

No wait, that’s not right. The tower was warm, even in winter. Magic sweeping through the air in pleasant currents driving the chill, fires stoked in her quarters by the Tranquil, bubbling pots over naked fires in the alchemy rooms, warm scents from the kitchens. Why was she so cold?

A pervading ache began to bloom along the base of her skull as her hearing sharpened. Falling away in tendrils of smoke, the fog of unconsciousness gave way to heightened sensation and awareness. The pain in her hand was excruciating, in fact the majority of her body seemed to be in pain. Drops of water fell in even intervals, dampening her cheeks. Stiff and sore, her wrists were immobile. Pins and needles danced along the backs of her legs and her feet were numb.

Where am I? As her vision slowly began to clear and her eyes focused painfully in the dim light, she looked at her aching hand. No injuries that she could see. Why was she shackled? What happ- Crying out as a wave of pain tore through her hand, up her arm, and ravaged a course through her veins, she fought to regain her breath as a brilliant flash of green light illuminated the dank room. Before she could make sense of her surroundings, the light disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared and with it a good deal of the pain. Panting heavily, she fought the swell of panic rising within her and tried to focus through the pain. Feebly, her tired mind chased shadows of memory, attempting to piece together the last moment she could recall.

                Before she could gather her thoughts, a heavy door burst open and two figures stalked their way into her… cell? One was lithe with feline grace, the other tall, imposing and purposeful. Drawing closer she could make out their features; one a slim red head, fair and quite beautiful, but with a reserved, indecipherable expression and the other a stern , fierce woman with sharp, angular features and barely restrained rage storming across her face.

                “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now?” The taller of the two hissed in her ear as she gripped the hilt of her sword and a hot fire flashed in her eyes. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead…Except for you.”

                The Conclave? Yes, she remembered. She remembered booking passage on a merchant ship travelling from the Free Marches to Jader, a long uncomfortable journey sleeping amidst casks of ale and sacks of grain in the ships’ bowels as storms tossed the vessel about on the Waking Sea. She remembered being ecstatic to set foot in Jader, marveling at the bustling port city’s liveliness only to immediately set out into the cold foothills of the Frostback Mountains and head for Haven. But why? It had seemed so important. The First Enchanter insisted she represent Ostwick’s Circle, she was a Trevelyan after all and that name carried weight. Why was it so important they succeed? Wait, everyone was…dead? But…Alec?!

                Greif threatened to swallow her as her body bowed around the stone growing in her chest. Pressing her forehead to the cold floor, she clenched her fists, drawing blood from her palms. A silent scream tore from her throat, her breath having been stolen from her lungs in her agony. A sudden fiery anger ripped through her as she jerked her head up and squared her gaze with the woman prowling around her, a wolf in the darkness.

“And you think I’m responsible?!” she cried.

“Explain this,” she demanded, grabbing her shackled wrist as a flare of verdant light illuminated the room once more.

 “I can’t” she stuttered racking her brain for what she could recall: Alec’s promise to meet her after the beginning of the discussions in the Temple hall, his eyes: soft and full of quiet longing as brushed back a stray lock from her cheek, his warm touch welcome in the cold mountain air, the tender brush of his lips against hers as they parted all too soon.  Her reveries were interrupted as she struggled to memorize his face, his scent, his voice.

“What do you mean you can’t?!”    

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there,” she insisted helplessly, her grief weakening her resolve as Alec’s face swam before her eyes.

“You’re lying!” the woman lunged at her but Evelyn was too tired and too stricken to care to defend herself. Yes, just do as you will, she thought. It’s better that way. But before a blow could land, the other woman stepped in almost too quickly for her eye to track and stopped the woman’s fist in its path.

“We need her Cassandra.” The woman stated calmly guiding her assailant away towards the door.

“I can’t believe it. All those people…dead?” she whispered mournfully.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” the red head asked as she turned back.

“I remember…running. Things were chasing me. And then …a woman?”

“A woman?” she asked.

“She reached out to me… but then…” she struggled for the fragments of her memories, flashes of images darting across her mind and disappearing into the darkness beyond her thoughts.

“Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take her to the Rift.” The red head nodded as the other woman turned back and pulled the prisoner to her feet. 


	2. Chapter 2

Leaning over a detailed map of Thedas unfurled on a well worn oaken table, Evelyn watched as Commander Cullen indicated troop movements to Cassandra by moving small carved figurines across its expanse and Lady Josephine jotted notes into her ledger with a white plumed quill. Leaning against the stone wall in the shadowy recesses of the far side of the room, Sister Nightingale, or Leliana to her closer companions, stroked a glossy black plumed crow perched on her shoulder as she untied a small message from one of its feet. Unable to focus on the conversation around her, Evelyn let her thoughts drift as the Commander’s baritone mingled with Lady Josephine’s lilting Antivan accent into a dull drone humming in her ears. How many weeks had passed since that less than pleasant meeting in Haven’s dungeons? She had stopped counting as her advisors became more preoccupied with the opening of new Rifts across Ferelden and Orlais and the efforts to seal the Breach looming above them. The townsfolk and Inquisition’s forces called her Herald now, or Her Worship, and the titles and deference paid to her made her increasingly uncomfortable. She was a relatively religious woman, having been raised by stout Andrastians before being sent to the Circle, and claiming that she spoke for Andraste seemed blasphemous somehow. Though she still wasn’t quite sure what _had_ happened in the Fade, she was relatively certain it was not an awe-inspiring religious experience.

Somewhere in the distant reaches of her hearing, she was aware of Commander Cullen insisting that, as the Breach was magical in nature,  approaching the Templars for aid in suppressing its growth would be the wisest route. However, Leliana was arguing that allowing the rebel mages to pour more magic into the Breach may allow it to be closed entirely: Evelyn had stabilized it, but not sealed it after all. Solas, the elven mage who seemed to have a great deal of understanding of the Breach, believed is she had a larger pool of magic to pull from, she could concentrate the power of the Mark and seal the Breach for good. She was skeptical to say the least, but the Mark did seem to have some effect on the Breach so perhaps the plan had merit, and she couldn’t help but sympathize with the mages plight.

“What do you think Herald?”

Looking up from her ruminations, Evelyn glanced back at Cassandra. “If Solas is right and power will help seal the Breach, then we need the mages.” Suprisingly, her decision met with no dissent. She had yet to get used to the respect afforded her by her previous captors.

“Then I will have our forces meet you in Redcliffe in three days time,” Cullen said, leaning back from the table and resting his hands on the hilt of his sword.

“And I will send spies ahead, I have received strange missives from the Hinterlands, we should know what we are walking into.” Leliana replied, sending the raven flapping out the embrasure into the frigid air beyond.

Placing her palms on the table, Evelyn leaned forward and dropped her head between her arms. With her eyes closed and lost in thought she didn’t hear the Commander stop on his way to the door.

“Herald?”

Jolting upright from her reflections, Evelyn gasped “Yes?”

“Are you alright?” he queried.

Giving a weak smile, she replied hastily “I’m fine Commander. Just a bit tired, but thank you.”

The doubtfulness in his eyes was plain. Steeling herself, she motioned toward the door and headed out into the nave of the chantry. Flickering dimly in the light of a hundred candles, the dark recesses of the room seemed alive with shadows, ghosts of its former devotees lost to time in the ancient hall. The building seemed a living thing as it creaked and groaned, protesting against the heavy winds, the only sounds echoing in the silence. Brushing her fingers absentmindedly along a pew, she sent up motes of dust into the heavily perfumed air. Not eager to break the fragile quiet, Evelyn returned to her thoughts.

In truth, she was far from well. She had nursed hope after Leliana and Cassandra had told her the news of the Conclave. Perhaps she alone would be granted some small kindness from the Maker, some true tangible mark of his favor and her fears would not be realized. It was selfish beyond reason, she knew, but she still hoped. Then she arrived at the Temple, or, rather, where it had once stood. With the glowing Breach in the sky barely noticeable to her and the cries of those in the midst of the fray a distant echo in her ears, her eyes attempted to focus on the destruction before her. Ashes, nothing but smoldering ashes. That, and the tormented figures of the deceased suspended in eternal agony, were all that was left of the Temple. _Could one of these be him? No, please no!_ She could not bear the thought that his final moment would be one of such horror, and then she saw it. A tiny thing, insignificant in the scope of things, but somehow, her eye caught it in the smoldering dust: A tiny replica of a sword in obsidian, the eerie green illumination of the Breach dancing across its polished surface. She had given it to him as a Summerday gift during their first year together. It was a little thing, shaped by her own fledgling magic, but he had cherished it and worn it about his neck on a leather band ever since. Falling to her knees, she grasped the trinket in her hands and pressed it to her lips as tears rolled silently down cheeks.

Fingering the token in her pocket, she and the commander exited into the brisk mountain air and made for the courtyard where the new recruits were training. While Evelyn watched the obviously green recruits feebly attempt to block the barrage of blows levied at them by the more seasoned veterans, she couldn’t help but remember a very different courtyard. It seemed so long ago now, she had only just passed her Harrowing and her dearest friend awaited her own test. Siona’s arm linked in her own, the two girls had set out to enjoy one of the first warm days of spring. The courtyard was in full splendor; fragile green buds adorned the trees and flowers bloomed in a multitude of vibrant colors. The air was sweet and fragrant and filled with the songs of birds, come home from their winter sanctuary.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. I was nervous as well, and everything turned out alright.”

“I don’t know Evey, you’ve had so much more practice than me.”

In that regard, she was not wrong. Her magical abilities having been recognized at the relatively normal age of seven, she had already spent several years in the Circle by the time of the elven girl’s arrival. To the surprise of her clan, Siona was already fourteen and an apprentice hunter when her talents manifested remarkably late. As her clan already had a First and Second to the Keeper, another mage was little more than a burden and she was given a pack and a bow and sent into the forest alone. Eventually caught, she was sent to the Circle in Ostwick.

Her bold and willfull nature, while an annoyance to the Circle’s hierarchy and Templars, reminded Evelyn of her favorite brother, Ethan. Though Siona was distrustful of a shem at first, she and Evelyn grew to be fast friends. Often found practicing their spells together or trading tales of their lives before the Circle, the girls were inseperable and it pained Evelyn greatly to think she might lose someone she had come to think of as a sister. Though she remained outwardly optimistic, she too feared Siona’s lack of training, months had passed since her eighteenth year and the Templars were growing restless. She doubted First Enchanter Lothaire could postpone the Harrowing any longer. 

In an effort to calm her nerves, Evelyn had suggested they take a stroll about the Circle’s grounds and that was how they found themselves rounding the corner by the barracks and coming upon the Templars’ training area. Busy hacking away at a training dummy in the courtyard, the young man was shirtless in the golden sunlight and covered by a fine sheen of sweat. His chestnut hair ruffled in the breeze and every stroke and parry accentuated the tight cords of muscle that rippled across his toned body. Transfixed, Evelyn nearly stopped in her tracks to watch his agile, lethal dance. Giggling, Siona tugged on her arma dn Evelyn immediately flushed at embarrassing herself by so openly gawking. Really, acting like an infatuated child, and over a Templar at that. Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, she marched purposefully past the man with Siona in tow. She pretended not to notice when he stopped his swings at their passing and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm, following them with his gaze. Even through her feigned nonchalance, Evelyn couldn’t help but notice his finely featured face with its square jaw line, chiseled cheekbones and wide luminous eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him before, he must be new.” Siona remarked once they were out of earshot.

 “Hmm.” Evelyn agreed.

“Are you blushing? Evelyn!” Siona laughed. “A Templar, really? Though I suppose he isn’t the worst looking sort,” she teased.

Rolling her eyes Evelyn flushed even harder and attempted in vain to change the subject. She spent the rest of the afternoon listening to Siona needle her about the brief encounter that would lay the foundation for so many changes yet to come.

                      Cullen’s eager praise of the Inquisition and his hopes for its future were enough to rouse her from her ruminations once more.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

His enthusiasm in the face of such adversity amused her and seemed to shake off some of her melancholy, a welcome reprieve, so she couldn’t help but goad him on.

“No, but if you’ve one prepared, I’d love to hear it.” She laughed.

“Another time perhaps,” he chuckled as a soldier hurriedly turned over a report or his perusal. As he headed back towards the chantry focusing intently on the newly acquired parchment in his hands, Evelyn found herself smiling for the first time in weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

The stone was cool against her back: a balm for her flushed skin. His hands were warm as they gripped her hips, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. She could feel his lips dance across her throat as he whispered quiet adorations into the tender flesh. Running her hands up his back, she could feel the powerful muscles shift and contract with each thrust. She was completely undone, her eyes heavy lidded with lust, lips red and swollen, arms and legs clutching tightly as if she could draw him deeper inside. And he was magnificent. His large body seemed to envelop hers until she was sure she would be lost in his presence, so full of latent strength as he held her easily aloft. The primal grunts and groans muffled into her shoulder only urged her own pleasure on as he lost his well trained composure and gave in to his baser need.

As his thrusts grew in strength and speed she was soon being slammed into the storeroom wall with a force she could barely stand. She could feel that tightening coil in her lower belly grow stronger and stronger still until with a sudden snap, a wave of pleasure flooded through her body like a dam breaking and she had to bite her lip to stifle a cry. Clawing into his shoulders, her core contracted around his hard length urging his own release. Burying his face in her hair he muffled his own strangled cry as he thrust his length deeply into her, pinning her to the wall as he rode out his own involuntary spasms. Finally stilling, he groaned and leaned back, still buried within her, to gently brush the hair back from her face. She was beautiful, weak and panting from the aftermath of her release.

“Dammit Evey, you know you’ll be the death of me,” he laughed as he laid a chaste kiss softly on her lips, “But Maker knows I’ll die a happy man.”

Smiling she reached up to trace the angle of his jaw, but as she did the flesh began to disintegrate, falling away in flakes of black ash.

“Alec?!” she cried grasping at his shoulders, as a searing pain tore through her. He began to glow, fine tendrils of smoke rising from his skin as he screamed.

“Evey! Help me, please!” His face, the one she had gazed lovingly into during stolen moments like this, began to melt away revealing a charred skull beneath as flames licked up his body and burned the both of them, their screams drowned in the roar of the fire.

She woke up screaming and fighting to put out the flames.


End file.
